


you and your bad tricks (you are my quick fix)

by Tsume_Yuki



Category: One Piece
Genre: 2nd person POV, F/M, Gift Fic, I Don't Know What Do You Want To See?, If you can call a collection of drabbles a gift, Rough Sex, and SMUT, just drabbles really, maybe some fluff, roughish sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 04:19:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9962744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsume_Yuki/pseuds/Tsume_Yuki
Summary: Just short snippets as I practice my 2nd person POV (and maybe an excuse to write some smutty stuff with the One Piece boys)





	1. Ace I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvenescentTranquility](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvenescentTranquility/gifts), [silenceia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/silenceia/gifts).



 

 

Teeth graze at the junction of your shoulder, the tender skin where neck meets collarbone.

It almost seems as if Ace's everywhere, so much bigger, so much broader than you are. That tall frame threatens to dwarf you, all that strong muscle and protective bulk. It's a powerful comfort, a large shield, a great barrier between the rest of the world and you. Whenever you're together, it's always like this.

As if the rest of the world just falls away, ashes in the wind as the fire that is Ace blazes.

One strong, callused hand palms against the side of your ribs, fingers tracing each individual bone as they press against the skin, dragging down until they can curl around the curve of your waist. Possessive, the grip pulls you closer, mirrored on your lefthand side as lips and teeth continue their lavishing routine upon your neck.

The bedsheets are crumpled beneath your body, the covers tangled between your bare calves.

Ace's knees trap you in, planted firmly on either side of your thighs, offering no escape, even if you'd been willing to take it.

One hand caught in black locks, you pull until Ace conceded, allowing the movement so his lips can be better put to use against your own. They're moist, but it's not unpleasant when coupled with the pressure he applies. The hungry press of his tongue against your own is almost enough to distract from his wandering hand. One remains gripping at your side, the other curving up over your abdominals, trailing up the breastbone to swerve to a side, catching at the handful of breast, thumb working over the nipple.

Your hips buck in response, Ace rising with the motion because if you touch, if you manage to grind and tease in return, then the game's going to be over far too soon.

"Patience," he hisses, pearly teeth digging into the flesh of his lower lip as the hand that he'd forgotten all about abandons gripping at his hair and goes to his rear instead.

It's laughable, the idea that this man is trying to school you in patience, that this hothead thinks he has the right to ask. But you'll grant it for now. Because things are always so much sweeter in the end when he thinks he's won.

"Not our strong suit," you whisper, voice hoarser than you'd care to admit.

Ace's eyes are dark, dark with promise and desire and all those other sinful words that describe chocolate and sex.

Whatever reply Ace tries to grunt is lost in your shoulder as your lips curve around the side of his neck, sucking and teasing, tongue flicking across skin.

It's a familiar taste, near muffled by the sharp zing of cologne and woodsmoke.

A heady combination.

"Ace," against his neck you gasp, or perhaps it's a moan, a wordless command that he get to the main event already.

His breath is hot against your cheek, kiss a striking promise upon your temple.

"Say my name again."

The idea to argue with him is there, you're sure of it, but then his hips grind against yours (when had he even worked his way between your legs?) and very little thought remains after first contact.

"Ace," and it's not the sexy drawl you'd been aiming for, more a quick breathless moan than anything else, but the way those gunmetal grey eyes darken makes it seem as if the man's heard the most orgasmic sound you're capable of creating.

"Fuck," he breathes, whispering your name like it's a pray and a deadly sin all at once. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Will be if you don't get on with it."

His response is a chuckle, raspy and hot, hands working down, tracing the path of your hipbones until they come across the line of your panties. The same dark orange as his hat.

You'll never forget his face the first time he saw you in them, and only them. But right now, you want that little scrap of fabric off.

"Say please."

And has there ever been anything sexier than a command issued by those lips?

Your thighs rub together, impatient to begin, but Ace forces them apart with his own.

So close.

"Say it."

"Please, Commander Ace, please."

 

And you give in, you always give in.

 

Because Ace always, always, makes it worth your while.

 

 

 


	2. ACE II

 

 

 

"Urgh."

Prodded into a state of semi-alertness at the sudden noise and unexpected presence by your side, your eyes slowly, begrudgingly open to stare at the source.

Having somehow worked his way into the space between you and the back of the sofa, Portgas D. Ace lays with his head face down into the pillow, wavy black hair spilling across the red fabric. His shirt is missing, as always, tattoos proudly exposed across the tanned skin of his back. There's half-healed scratch marks lacing the expanse of his shoulder blades, inspiring an odd combination of guilt and satisfaction.

"Rough day?" You question, rolling onto your side, reaching one arm out to run up the length of his spine.

At the touch, Ace twists his head around to look at you, letting out a little huff of air. He does look tired, the skin beneath his eyes smeared darker than usual, eyebrows sitting a bit heavier than they had before he left you this morning.

You've had nothing planned for today, and as such have spent the past few hours lazing the entire day away.

Clearly Ace has had a busier day, a hectic one looking at the state of him. It's a wonder his narcolepsy hasn't struck yet.

"The busiest," he grunts, one strong arm flexing until the flat of his warm palm presses into the small of your back, drawing you closer. Chest to chest as he too rolls onto his side, you curl your own arm around his ribs in response, humming low in your throat when Ace buries his nose into the flesh surrounding your collarbone.

His smell is a familiar one, sharp from Striker's engine oil, spicy from the meat he's no doubt consumed en mass for lunch, along with that underlying scent of warmth that just never seems to leave him. That scent that is all Ace.

Soft hair tickles at the skin of your cheek as he nuzzles closer, arms wrapping tighter. There's a lot of power in those arms, you know it, he knows it, everyone knows it. Even as a logia, Ace's never relied fully upon his Devil Fruit, has always continued to train his body until muscles strain beneath taunt skin. An aesthetic you enjoy very much.

Fingers trail down the curve of his bicep, lingering slightly upon the tattoo that stains the skin, the markings as familiar as the sky is blue. Nails scrap, tracing the design and Ace shivers slightly at the contact.

"Is my little hothead tired?"

The sugary quip has Ace growling.

The noise rumbles up and out of his chest, rolling across the stretch of your collarbone, along the hollow of your neck.

"Just wanna enjoy the rest'f the day with my girl," he whines, hold tightening just that little bit more until you're flush against his chest. The powerful rhythm of his heart thrums, mighty as a thunderstorm and steady as the sun rises and sets.

Ace does have the right idea though, of lying here, spending your free time together... it sounds wonderful. Just appreciating his very physical presence, how very safe a feeling he gives off. How comforting and warm. Just like fire.

Your shoulders roll back, the muscles shedding all that tension. Long as they are, Ace's legs would stretch further down the couch than yours, all six foot one of him too long to lay completely out. His knees are half bent and you worm one leg between his, foot lazily stroking at the calf his shorts expose.

A pleased almost-purr escapes his lips and you can feel his cheek, the one pressing against the side of your neck, lifting into a smile.

"You want to lay here, just the two of us?" You whisper, letting your own eyes slowly glide shut, forefinger drawing meaningless circles on his warm flank, just kissing at the very edge of his beloved Whitebeard tattoo.

"Sound great," Ace murmurs, fingers curling around the curve of your waist, the flat warmth of his palms impossibly pressing you even closer into him.

It's not possible to get any more comfortable than this, and though you'll no doubt wake with a dead arm given how Ace's sprawled out across it, right now a nap sounds like the perfect idea.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fluff. Just because I'd love an Ace to cuddle with. 
> 
> I think I'll do a Sabo one next. Smut or fluff?


	3. LUFFY I

 

 

 

You should have never introduced Luffy to sex.

It'd seemed like a good idea at the time, a way to work off all of his energy, so that you may savour the mellow aftermath of post-orgasmic bliss.

Your risk was calculated, but as it has turned out, maths is not your strong point.

For Luffy has a terrible amount of energy, which come hand in hand with his stamina levels.

 

Your back is to the wall, legs wrapped tight around that lithe waist. Luffy is not a big man, per say, but he does stand taller than you do. His muscles are more defined, more prominent beneath the stranger rubber texture of his skin. It's a little irritating, knowing all the hickeys that decorate your skin may never be replicated upon his.

Luffy does not bruise, so leaving a trail of marks, sinful evidence peppers over his neck and chest just isn't possible.

It doesn't stop you from trying though, if only to hear those delicious moans.

"Ahh." "Luffy~" you drag his name out slightly, the word drips from your lips as warm honey, Luffy's tongue licking as if he can swipe it all up.

He's always ravenous, always hungry. And it's not just an appetite for food anymore.

His hardness, thick and strong, rubs deliciously against your slick wetness, only the fabric of your panties separating the two. It won't be there for long.

Luffy breathes your name with awe; it's not the same type of awe that's reserved for Franky's new upgrades, for Zoro's latest swordplay or Usopp's extravagantly tall tale.

It's primal, raw and filled with lust.

Luffy walks a fine line between lust and love, one foot within each territory and you're never quite certain if you're going to end bundled up in his tender arms or pinned beneath his hot hands.

"Luffy, touch me," you plea and it's all the go ahead he needs, one hand at the side of your thigh, hiking it higher as the other traps the flesh of your breast between his fingers. Thumb and forefinger pinch, playing and pulling, tugging and teasing. Your hips roll hard in respond, grinding your sexes together and Luffy's left hand entangles itself in the fabric of your pants.

"Shishi, sorry." The apology's not very sincere; given Luffy's renowned, selfish impatient, it's a miracle those panties haven't ended up in tatters sooner.

"Harder!" Luffy demands, teeth nipping roughly at the flesh of your neck as you grasp coarse black tresses.

The wood of Sunny's wall against your back isn't uncomfortable, per-say, but it's not the soft cotton of a bed. The both of you are past caring at this point.

There's something dirtier, sexier, about Luffy pinning you to the wall, holding you up off the floor as he continues to drive his hips again and again against your ready core.

Maybe Luffy is rubbing off on you, in more ways than one. This isn't exactly the first time you'll be going at it today after all.

Luffy whines your name, wrapping his lips around one nipple while finger tease the other, "I'm really hard."

As if you're not already aware of this.

"You make me hard."

Now those words send a full body shiver racing down your spine, tightens that coil in your stomach. God, he hasn't even entered you yet and you're already half way to an orgasm.

While more patient than your captain, there isn't a chasm of difference.

Your hand barely has to help, a guide for one breath and then Luffy's pushing inside, or are you sinking down?

Either way, your groans mingle, a sultry exchange.

The next kiss is messy, teeth clash and tongues slide. Rather far away from finesse, the collision of lips on lips may lack refinement but the passion is there in abundance. He never does things by halves, your Captain (your other half, your soulmate), for his first thrust is at full strength.

There is no holding back, but that's fine by you. Your not made of glass, you can take it.

"Captain, harder!"

And Luffy's grin is wild, his eyes bright and skin laced with sweat.

"Say that again, I- ah! I like it."

"Ca- Captain!"

 

 

 

 

Luffy likes holding you when you're both finished, sprawled out in a satisfied heap on his bed.

He lays under you, naked and shameless, one hand stroking distractedly at your hip with the other arm around your waist. One leg half curled over his, your head rests upon his chest, listening. His heartbeat was a thunderous symphony; it has since calmed now, a steady drumbeat beneath the hard flesh of his chest.

You don't really need to say any words, Luffy is already aware of all that you are, all that you feel. Even when you do not speak he can hear your voice, pays it that extra bit of care despite all those that call out to him.

You don't need to hear words either; when his nose presses into your hair, when you can feel his wide grin against your cheek and the tightening of his grip, you know it's just his wordless 'I love you too'.

 

 


	4. LAW I

 

Usually on a date you can never get away with wearing heels.

It's an incredibly idiotic notion, but there's a part of you that insists on taller men, that just adores the very idea of being able to look up into someone's eyes as they gaze down at you.

Of course, you'd developed this mindset before you'd gotten even somewhat close to finishing your teenaged growth spurt. From which you'd just kept growing, until you'd evened out at a nice five foot ten. A height that comes with luscious long legs, even proportions for your bountiful curves... but leaves you standing over a fair amount of men, never mind with the addition of heels.

It's cut down on your prospects, that's for sure.

Which is why this is such a delight.

 

Law is gorgeous, dark hair and smouldering eyes, just your type. And he's six foot four. Half a glorious foot taller than you; even in six inch heels you cannot exceed his height, only match it.

One warm hand rests on your waist, heat sweeping through the thin fabric of a silken dress as golden eyes meet yours. You always pictured looking up into eyes, and whenever your plodding around Polar Tang in you're bare feet, that's exactly what you get. But eye level... eye level isn't so bad.

That smug smirk ain't directly in your line of sight, but ligers just in the peripheries. The way the light catches at Law's earrings entrances, dancing between bright and dark, half hidden beneath the large mass of his hat. He must have showered before meeting up; the usual presence of antiseptics he carries after visiting the medical bay is absent, replaced by the scent of clean soap and sharp aftershave.

"Like what you see?" His voice drawls, lazy and as smug as his smirk. It suits his appearance perfectly, dark and filled with all those naught promises that send tingled down to your toes.

"Like that I don't have to look down," you admit and his lips twitch up even more, as if he's had any conscious control over just how tall he ended up, as if he's got something to be proud of.

"I like a woman who can meet my eyes," Law whispers, as if it's a dark little secret that shouldn't be spoken aloud.

He's not talking about height issues, it's obvious as those auric eyes stare, hot and heavy.

It's about daring, it's about having the guts to meet the eyes of a pirate captain and hold them, to not flinch and turn away. To acknowledge all that he is, fearlessly. To have a head held high, shoulders straight and a posture that states you will not bow. About standing as tall as you are capable of, and claiming nothing, no force of land or ocean, will ever see you crumble and wilt.

It's nice to meet a man with enough balls to appreciate that.

Your hips sway in time with the low music, echoing out from the festival being thrown upon the island. It's where the rest of the Heart Pirates are, leaving the two of you alone.

Because despite the dress and the heels and the perfectly done makeup, a summer festival really isn't Law's type of scene.

Dancing slow to the faint murmurs of a tune that reach out to the docks though, meandering like wisps across the submarine's deck, that's acceptable.

The only issue is the cook's gone too, leaving you both fending for yourself when it comes to tonight's dinner.

"What're you thinking about?" You ask, wondering just what plans, what schemes and plots are twisting around in Law's tactical mind.

"How you look in those heels. How you'd look in _just_ those heels."

 _Oh_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Because I was reading EvenescentTranquility's One Piece stuff and silencia20's 2nd Person Harry Potter fic and got horrible inspired in the worst possible way to attempt my own 2nd Person POV stuff. ( ~~because I don't think I've ever done second person before~~ )
> 
> Which is why you two get this gifted/associated with you. Ta-da.
> 
> If there's anyone you (the reader) want me to Drabble about, let me know and I'll try my best.


End file.
